As for doubts and things of that sort, they never, so to speak, went in for them, their minds were not of that order. In the same way the truths or the untruths of Christianity seemed to them an interesting enough study between working hours. In Mrs. Waring’s case, perhaps, they appealed fitfully to some part of herself she never quite understood, that same sentimental part that often suffered a keen stab,—for instance in the case of the Rectory babies, and sometimes from a strange look in Gwen’s face. But she had almost ceased to speculate upon these odd sensations, and was inclined to put them down to a strain of puritan blood that had somehow trickled into the more vigorous fluid of her fighting forbears, which perhaps might almost account for her preference for Christianity over other creeds. It will be seen then that the reception or rejection of Christianity by their children, was a matter of no vital importance to these parents. They were, however, intensely interested in the result itself, that was quite another thing; the phases of mind the function must unfold seemed certainly a subject worth research, and filled them with the keenest interest. “You are quite sure, dearest,” said Mr. Waring, a few days before Dacre’s departure was to take place, “that Mary has not tampered with the minds of our children.” “I am certain, quite certain. She has certainly seemed to resent my orders in this matter, but she has not disobeyed them.” Mrs. Waring sat down and tried to take up the thread of her thoughts, but it was broken again in a minute by Mr. Waring pushing back his chair suddenly and looking at her in a disturbed restless way. She went over, laid her hand on his shoulder, and looked anxiously into his face. “Are you troubled, love, can I not help you?” “I should be glad, my Grace, if I felt more convinced that the minds of our children are really a blank as far as any knowledge of religion goes.” “I am sure Mr. and Mrs. Fellowes——” “Dearest, the idea is revolting! Fellowes, a gentleman! And his wife! She is your friend, that is sufficient.” He bowed as his grandfather, the courtliest man in a courtly court might have done. “But I fear that when very young the children may have received foreign impressions, the class that people the stable-yard are often quite versed in what they term ‘the truths of the Gospel’.” “But so long ago?” “Not so very long after all, and impressions are most tenacious things, more especially erroneous ones. Does the fact not hamper us daily, dearest? Even this moment,” he went on musingly, “after all these years, I can recollect praying at my mother’s knee with a quite astonishing fervour, which now seems next to reasonless, and yet I doubt if the impression of that fervour will ever leave me.” “We can only hope, dearest,” she said.